Chapter Text
“The intrusion does not trigger reflexive action. The organ remains largely functional. Hypothesis: removal of the liver’s caudate lobe will trigger reflexive action. Total reconstruction is unlikely.”
Anakin talks.
The Jedi listen.
Then, very quietly, they open two investigations.
The first, into the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.
The second, into Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo.
Someone slides into the bench across from Anakin.
Anakin looks up from where he’s been poking listlessly at his plate.
“Obi was by my side every step of the way, Skywalker,” says Quinlan Vos. “So I will do the same for his kid, whether you want my help or not.”
“And of course, I must ask, how is Knight Skywalker doing?” the Chancellor asks. “I simply can’t imagine the sort of grief he must be dealing with at the moment.”
“I regret to inform you, Chancellor,” Plo says heavily, “that the psychic backlash from the bond snapping has rendered Knight Skywalker unable to return to the field for the foreseeable future.”
The Chancellor looks startled. “Oh, dear. He’s a very good friend of mine. Is he able to receive visitors?”
“Regrettably not, Chancellor,” Plo says. “His current instability means anyone without the requisite training in Force shielding risks being dealt severe psychic damage.”
The Chancellor leans forward slightly. “Instability?”
“I apologize that I cannot give you any more information at this time, sir,” Mace says. “Patient privacy is of paramount importance to us. I know the two of you are close. Rest assured he is receiving the best possible care.”
Palpatine smiles. “Of course. I have full faith in your Healers. Do pass on my condolences.”
Mace bows his head. “Of course, Chancellor.”
The blue holo flickers out. The councilors look at each other.
“Trust him, I do not,” Yoda says solemnly. “Concerning, it is, that he knew, and said nothing.”
Instability, Sidious thinks gleefully. How wonderful.
When Padme hears the door chime, she feels a surge of hope.
Anakin hasn’t responded to any of her messages, nor has she even caught a glimpse of him since the news broke of his Master’s death. She knows both the 501st and the 212th have been recalled to Coruscant, but she hasn’t heard a peep from the Temple.
She is a practiced politician, so she doesn’t let a single flicker of disappointment cross her face when she opens the door to find, instead of her husband, the Master of the Order and a Chalactian Jedi she hasn’t met before.
“Senator Amidala,” Master Windu says, his face as stoic as ever.
“Master Windu,” she says, smiling. “This is a pleasant surprise. I’m afraid I don’t know…?”
“Apologies. Let me introduce Master Depa Billaba, a member of the Council and my former Padawan.”
The Jedi nods at her, offering a smile.
“Apologies for interrupting you in your personal quarters, Senator,” she says smoothly. “But I’m afraid we must discuss something with you that is best kept out of the Senate. May we come in?”
They settle in the living room. C3PO serves tea.
The expressions of the two Jedi are perfectly serene. She hesitates for a moment. Would it be revealing too much if-?
But she has to know.
“How is Knight Skywalker coping?”
Their expressions reveal nothing at all.
“He has been temporarily suspended from active duty, Senator,” Billaba says. “There were irregularities in his conduct immediately preceding Master Kenobi’s death that have proven cause for concern.”
What?
“Suspended? But he’s one of your best generals!”
Windu sets his cup of tea down with a clink.
“We do not measure the worth of our own by their military prowess, Senator.”
The way they’re both looking at her…
Padme takes a breath. “I apologize for my outburst, Masters. I simply- with the death of Master Kenobi, I find myself off-kilter. He is sorely missed by many.”
Master Billaba smiles at her.
“Understandable, Senator,” she says. “After all, to be angry is to be human, is it not?”
Silence.
Something cold trickles down her spine.
Pale skin, peeled back like an orange, is held in place with metal clips. Blood bubbles up from a methodical incision in the lung, a metal shunt sliding between flayed ribs-
Padme sets her cup down carefully.
“What is the purpose of your visit, Masters?”
Master Windu’s gaze is sharp.
“I will speak plainly, Senator. Anakin Skywalker committed a crime three years ago on Tatooine. He murdered a camp of Tatooine's indigenous inhabitants, known colloquially as 'Sandpeople.' The dead numbered approximately seventy. He confessed to you after the act.”
Padme stares at him.
“You did not encourage him to seek help. You did not report his actions to the relevant authorities. Instead, you sought to justify them. Why?”
The world turns stark and sharp around her.
Padme takes a deep breath and folds her hands on her lap.
“They killed his mother, Master Windu. I understand this may not be the Jedi way, but they earned his anger. They would have faced no justice for their crime on Tatooine.”
“‘They killed his mother,’” Master Billaba repeats, and then, her face still utterly calm-
“Even the children, Senator?”
Padme swallows.
“They were animals-”
“Does one usually use the terms men, women and children when talking about animals?”
Her voice dies in her throat.
“Then,” Master Windu says, “you chose to marry him.”
Padme draws herself up. Here, she is on more solid ground. Here, she knows she is right- after all, she loves him, and he loves her. She knows this. Regardless of what the Jedi may think of relationships-
“I am not here to dispute the tenets of our philosophy with you, Senator.” Windu says, cutting her off. “There was not a single one of us unaware that you and Skywalker were in a relationship. You were hardly subtle. I speak to you now as a politician. By marrying a Jedi- who was, notably, underage at the time- you compromised both your own neutrality and the neutrality of the Order, even more so by refusing to disclose the marriage in a timely manner. If this comes to light, every action the Jedi have taken in this war will be reevaluated to make sure Naboo was not unfairly favored. Every action you yourself have taken, every bill you have sponsored- doubt will be cast upon all of them. Were you against the war because you truly wanted peace, or simply because you wanted your husband off the front lines?
“You are one of the primary advocates for clone rights in the Senate. You are aware your position is an unpopular one. Do you truly think your opponents would not jump on any opportunity to prove you are compromised?”
She bites back the instinctive flash of irritation. “They can look all they want, Master Windu, but I am not compromised, and I do not appreciate such aspersions being cast on my integrity-”
He leans forward. “Then explain to me, Senator,” he says, no hint of mercy in his tone, “what exactly happened with Grievous.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“You made a unilateral decision to trade a leading Separatist general for Anakin Skywalker,” Master Billaba says, her gaze sharp. “Do you dispute that?”
“I-”
“Do you know how many troopers have died directly by his hand since his release?” she continues. “Eighteen, so far. Eight of the 501st. Ten from my own battalion, although we were only able to recover nine and a half bodies. The casualties, both civilian and military, that have occurred on his orders are uncountable.”
“So you would have left him there?” Padme snaps, her composure fraying.
“Have you completely forgotten Geonosis?” Windu asks. His tone is scathing. “What have we done to make you think we leave our own behind?”
That stops her in her tracks. Of course she hadn’t forgotten-
“We are not completely incapable, Senator,” Master Billaba says. “But you made your decision without alerting the Senate or us. You knowingly gave up an advantage that could have turned the tide of the war."
Protests spring to her lips.
General Skywalker is more valuable to the Republic than Grievous is to the Separatists-
As a Senator, I had the authority to make that trade-
General Skywalker’s loss would have crippled the war effort-
But the Senate has been very busy since the news of Obi-Wan’s death broke.
She has to acknowledge-
It was never the loss of Anakin that was going to cripple the war effort.
Thirty survivors out of two hundred and twelve.
No. The Jedi don’t leave their own behind.
“Where is Anakin now?”
The two Jedi glance at each other, and Padme gets the distinct feeling she’s just failed some sort of test.
“Anakin Skywalker confessed,” Master Windu says slowly. “He is receiving the help that he badly needs. That you were instrumental in denying him. His movements are currently restricted to the Temple, both for his own safety and the safety of those around him.”
Sympathy flickers in Master Billaba’s steady gaze. “Love lives in the acknowledgement of flaws, Senator, not the ignorance of them.”
A pause.
“I think,” Padme says, her voice chilly, “that this meeting is over.”
The two Jedi stand. Master Windu reaches into his robe and pulls out a manila folder.
“The casualty reports from Grievous’ most recent campaign,” he says coolly, and places it on the table between them. “I believe you may find it of interest.”
Master Billaba adjusts her robes. “I suggest that you take a closer look at the type of politician you wish to be going forward.”
“May the Force be with you, Senator,” Master Windu says. It sounds like a warning.
The door slides open, and they’re gone.
Padme sits on the couch, staring at the manila folder, until her tea goes cold.
Eventually, she opens it.
White lightning flickers across bloody muscle as it shudders and jumps, trying to knit itself back together.
The door slides open. The shadow on the bed doesn’t move.
When Quinlan flicks the light on, he sees the younger man lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The Force is roiling with a nauseating mixture of grief and anger and ugly frustration.
Right.
“Skywalker, you’re gonna be late for breakfast. Come on, up you get-”
“Do you know,” Skywalker says, his voice dull, “what I said to him?”
“Captain Rex,” General Windu says. “I would like to offer a formal apology.”
Rex stares at him.
“Sir?”
He looks exhausted.
“It has recently come to our attention that Senator Amidala made a unilateral decision to trade General Grievous for General Skywalker. I want you to know that this action was undertaken without the knowledge or approval of the Order.”
He sighs.
“I saw the latest casualty reports, Captain. I’m sorry.”
And Rex-
Rex doesn’t know quite what to say.
When Skywalker’s words run out, Quinlan takes a moment to breathe.
The fury that kindles behind his sternum burns like a supernova. He-
Old habits, Quin, he reminds himself.
It’s not just fury there, is it?
He takes it in hand and examines it carefully.
There’s anger there, yes. Anger at the injustice- that Obi-Wan had constantly been held up against a dead man, and had been found wanting every time. Frustration, too- that Skywalker had refused to listen, that it had taken Obi-Wan’s death for the scales to fall from his eyes.
And grief, too. Always the ache of grief.
He sighs, and lets it settle.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Skywalker doesn’t look at him. He just shrugs.
Oh, Quinlan knows this all too well.
“Get up,” he says, and keeps a careful eye on him as he says, “We’re going to spar.”
Standing in the shadows of the room, he sees tension leech from Skywalker’s shoulders.
Got you.
“Reflexive action is only initiated when organ function is irrevocably compromised. No corresponding rise in midichlorian levels in isolated blood samples.”
“Sabers?”
“No. Hand to hand.”
Jab. Cross. Side-step. Block. Jab. Rear hook. Block. Cross. Block. Jab. Block. Block. Bl-
Vos ducks, pivots, and Anakin staggers backward as a fist slams into his face. White-hot pain shatters in his jaw, and his balance gives way. He looks up at Vos from where he lands on his back, waiting- hoping- for another blow, but Vos doesn’t make another move. He just drops his hands and stands there.
He doesn’t even look- angry. Not really.
He just looks sad.
“Did that make you feel better, Skywalker?”
He brings one hand up to his cheek. Poking it sends a flurry of reddish-orange sparks across his field of vision. “Wh- you punched me!”
“Yeah,” Vos snaps, “and you’re the one who told me what you said. Why?”
Why?
Because he can’t sleep. Because every time he closes his eyes he sees Obi-Wan’s face, the way his expression had crumpled, the way his eyes had gone cold, how the bond had slammed shut-
Because he hears his own voice, snapping, sneering, and it’s clawing at his insides, and he needs someone to know, someone has to-
Vos sighs, and sits down next to him.
“This won’t be pleasant for you to hear, Skywalker. But someone’s gotta tell you, and Obi-Wan’s not here to do it.
“You didn’t tell me because you thought it was the right thing to do. You told me because you knew I’d kick your ass for it, and you would be able to tell yourself you’d been punished, and that would be that. Fair’s fair. But it’s an excuse. It’s easier. Externalizing it is always easier. It’s easier, when you feel guilty or ashamed, to have someone else do the punishing instead of looking at why. And it’s easier, when you’re hurting, to let it turn you cruel.
“It’s easier, Skywalker, but here’s the rub- it doesn’t make anything better. That punch? What did that do? It fractured your jaw, by the looks of it. It hurt my hand. But it didn’t take the words back. It didn’t bring Obi-Wan back. There’s a difference between sharing pain and making others shoulder it. I took my grief and anger and forced you to bear the consequences, and it didn’t do anything except make more people hurt.
“You can’t keep making other people shoulder your pain for you. You have to face it yourself, and you have to keep facing it. That’s the way home. It’s a long path, and it’s not easy. But it’s there, and I won’t leave you to walk it alone.”
They sit in silence for a long moment.
The tears streaking down Anakin’s face are only partially due to the punch. Vos graciously doesn’t mention them.
“It’s not a battle to be fought and won once, Anakin,” he says quietly.
Anakin, the lump in his throat nearly choking him, says, “I wish it was.”
Quinlan hums. “Maybe. But look at it this way- it’s not a battle to be fought and lost once, either.”
He unfolds himself and stretches, cracking his back. “Come on. Let’s get Che to take a look at that jaw. You’ve got an appointment with the mindhealer in an hour. I’ll get you a smoothie while you get fixed up.”
He offers Anakin a hand up.
Anakin takes it.
After the events concerning Pong Krell, the Council tells Cody, Obi-Wan had taken pains to ensure the 212th would not be placed under the command of an unknown General in the event of his- extended absence.
Thanks to Obi-Wan’s aggressive promotions, they say, he is able to retain sole command of the battalion without the aid of any nat-born officers.
Cody’s first instinct is to refuse it, because-
Well-
That’s Obi-Wan’s spot.
He can’t possibly-
But.
Small spaces, perhaps, Obi-Wan had said, with a smile that promised a future.
He can’t be Obi-Wan Kenobi.
But he can be Cody.
And that will have to be enough.
“Hm. A pity. I assume conscious control would result in initiating repairs at an earlier stage of damage. It’s a shame there’s no way of checking that.”
A scoff. “I sense your disappointment, apprentice. Irrelevant. Try electrocution. I want to see if the internalization produces a countercurrent. Useful information can still be gleaned.”